Summary: Elena remembers why she came back and her world comes crashing down. Now she must face the terrifying Originals, risking life and sanity in a desperate bid for Stefan and for her humanity!
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
* Author's Note(s)
Date posted: 21 June 2003
* Late again! In my defence, RL has been... eventful. To make up for it (I hope), this chapter is almost twice as long as previous chapters. FYI, an example of samba music is the ever fun and infectious 'Cuban Pete' (you know, The Mask, chic, chicky boom?). And for a taste of what rhumba is like, listen to Diana Krall's sultry 'The Look of Love' Thanks to Moreta for edits and comments!
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~ Forty Seven ~
"Stefan, there's something I've wanted to ask you."
The vampire looked up with a faint smile and even that made Jacintha blush. Beneath the table, Elena's knee nudged his meaningfully and they exchanged quick glances. It was obvious that this new Turned was painfully infatuated with Stefan and it was hard not to notice. "Yes?" he asked.
"Are...are you going to be Turned?" she blurted, flushing a deeper red. Conversation around the table died quite rapidly as the people around them stopped to listen to his answer.
A bit self-consciously, he sipped his juice – it was all he was having and he was here mostly to keep Elena company while she ate and talked to the Turned. In the next room, the television was abruptly shut off. A glance in that direction showed the vampires all looking in his direction, Samar draped over the back of her armchair like an odd puppy.
Everyone was still waiting for his answer and the silence was bordering on awkward now. Elena sat quietly beside him, letting him answer for himself.
"Well, actually..." he began. "I..." The weight of gazes from vampires and Turned alike rested on him and he found it hard for the words to come out. Elena shot him an odd look, then twirled a strand of spaghetti around her fork.
"I am."
He smiled at Jacintha and nodded, then glanced at the vampires. "With the next batch, actually," he added. There was a cheer or two from the kitchen and many smiles. Conversation picked up after that, returning to normal. The lack of telepathic commentary at this news was a resounding silence, however.
Stefan returned the smiles and nods, feeling like one might at one's first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. "Hi, I'm Stefan and I'm a vampire. I haven't drank blood in two days." Wincing a little at that mental image, he cupped Elena's elbow in one palm. "I'm going to talk to the rest. Will you be all right getting back to the cabin?" he asked.
She shot him a sideways glance in reply. "As if you need to ask. Go on," she sent off, looking faintly concerned.
He squeezed her elbow reassuringly and excused himself from the other diners. He stepped into the next room and raised his eyebrows at the vampires. In wordless agreement, they all rose and started back to their cabin. Tristan did need a tug on his sleeve from Samar and a pointed stare from Makoe before he got out of his chair, though.
They drifted silently through the forest and only began the conversation when all were seated in the living area.
"I intended to tell you all, but didn't know how to bring it up," Stefan opened when they all looked at him expectantly. "Do you have any problems with this?" Not that he would change his mind, but he'd at least like to hear if they were unhappy with his decision.
"Well, I can't say it's unexpected, Stefan," Leon said quietly. "And that Turned that looks at you with puppy-dog eyes did put you in a bit of a spot," he added with customary dry humor. Stefan mock-scowled at Leon for laughing at his predicament but was relieved that the mild vampire didn't seem to have any objections to his choice.
He looked at Makoe inquiringly. The shorter vampire merely shrugged. "It's your life, Salvatore," he said shortly then fixed his detached eyes on Stefan fully to emphasize his next words. "But humans and ex-vampires have no part in the hunt. If you become Turned, you're no longer one of us," he said bluntly.
Stefan thought he saw Samar pale at this pronouncement but he couldn't be sure. Makoe's eyes caught his and he nodded. "I understand."
"So you've chosen, have you? That's your final decision?" Tristan demanded belligerently.
Stefan looked away from Makoe to meet the tall vampire's hazel eyes evenly. "Yes."
Tristan's lips drew back in a sneer.
::Tristan!:: Makoe snapped and Stefan saw Tristan suppress a wince.
The hyperactive vampire didn't back down but turned his bared teeth on Makoe instead. Stefan watched the stare-down, suspecting that a private argument was going on as well. Finally, Tristan glared at Stefan. "Your loss," he growled.
Uneasy silence fell and Stefan groped for words to fill it. He only found one question.
"Do any of you wanted to be Turned as well?"
* * *
Elena chose that moment to return. Distracted by her arrival, Samar lost the chance to garner clues from the others' reactions to Stefan's graceless question. All five heads snapped towards the blonde standing just inside the threshold, the lingering tension in the room finding a common focus.
Elena froze and looked at them warily. Seeing her expression, Stefan stood and went to her. "Hi," Samar heard him say softly, planting a quick kiss on the crown of her head – a gesture, Samar mused, meant to reassure. He tugged her to sit beside him, resuming his earlier seat.
As they settled, Samar looked around, her mind turning back to that question. Her eyes came to rest on Makoe and lingered there. The cold vampire was as expressionless as ever; she could not tell what he was thinking at all. Tristan was also staring at Makoe, Samar noticed. Possibly having a private argument? Leon – Samar looked at the phlegmatic vampire and found him watching her with an odd expression of concern, as if he knew the unease in her mind.
Makoe's earlier words to Stefan replayed in her mind. 'Humans and ex-vampires have no part in the hunt. If you become Turned, you're no longer one of us.'
Did Makoe mean any of them, or just Stefan? Did that mean that if she chose to be Turned, she would lose the only family she had left? He must know that she's considering it, from their conversation in the woods the other night. Was this his way of warning her?
Tristan's reaction had not been lost on her either. She wondered what her brother would say if she announced that she also wanted to be Turned. Would he sneer and turn his back on her as well?
Outwardly, the silence reigned. Stefan's question hung in the air ominously, something no one wanted to broach but everyone – with the possible exception of Tristan – was thinking about. No one seemed to know what to say, even Elena, who sat stiff and rigid beside Stefan.
Samar fought the urge to bury her face in her hands and shake it; she was so confused. About Makoe, about the decision to be Turned, about what she wanted. The more she thought about it, the more topsy-turvy everything seemed to become. She couldn't deal with this. Forcefully, she made herself think of other things.
It was amazing what one's psyche came up with in times of need.
"Look at all these gloomy faces!" Her exclamation made the others look at her and she pretended to survey them with a critical eye. "It's been nothing but angst and doom around here lately. And to think I used to want to tag along because I thought you were having fun!" she sniffed in disgust and shook her head. "Tsk! Let's go downtown tonight! Hit a few clubs, forget everything and just relax. Celebrate Elena's kicking Klaus' ass!" She grinned at the blonde, whose expression changed to surprise.
Samar spied Tristan's doubtful look and she scowled at him warningly when he opened his mouth to protest. "If you say a word about me being too young...!"
Her brother gave her an unimpressed snort then looked from her to Makoe and back. Sometimes, Tristan was more shrewd – or maybe just paranoid – than people gave him credit for. Like now. "Nah. I was just thinking that Makoe hasn't taken his little vampire hunter girlfriend out for that date he won yet."
Samar held her breath as she watched the cold vampire fastened his eyes on her brother. He was silent for a moment and Samar waited for the explosion to come.
"Good idea. I'll call her."
Samar blinked. Did Makoe just say that he would call that... hunter – that human – to come out with them? When she, Samar, had proposed a night of fun? She couldn't believe her _ears_! Of all the nerve of the man!
Leon looked worried and more worried.
"Fine. Whatever. You boys run along. Go pick up your bimbo. Just stay out of our way." Samar rose and stalked off to the rooms, grabbing Elena's wrist on the way and almost hauling her along. "We girls have work to do."
Samar nudged Elena into the room she shared with Stefan and disappeared into her own room, returning in short order with clothes and cosmetics bag. She banished Stefan from the room, barely giving him time to grab a change of clothes before shutting the door to the room and the external door of the adjoining bathroom.
The next two hours were filled with arcane things girls before a night out. Bubble bath, manicure, hair treatment, skin-pampering cosmetics, facial mask, hair styling, make up... Elena was bewildered at first but quickly fell in with the program. The girls chatted lightly, giggling a little.
This simple girlish fun was something Samar had not had in thirty years and she was surprised at how much she missed it. The relaxed her a little, taking the edge off the outrage/disappointment that Taura would be around this evening.
At the end of two hours, Samar sat in front of the dresser and stared at the image it framed.
Elena looked like a mermaid; her iridescent top was covered with scale-like sequins. The asymmetrical neckline left one shoulder bare and the hem echoed the tapering slant. Below that, she wore matching aquamarine pants that belled out slightly below the knees. Her straight gold hair fell around her shoulders with two locks at her temples that were braided and beaded. The lapis lazuli eyes were dark in contrast with the sparkling greenish eye makeup she used.
Beside her, Samar felt like a shadow. The dress she wore was black, with black on black embroidery, and fit like a second skin. The hem hung two inches above her knees and a slit ran up one side to bare an expanse of thigh. High-heeled sandals that she had had to strap herself into gave her added height and made her legs look longer – the wonders of optical illusions. Elena had piled her hair up into a dizzying swirl of black and deep pink – it actually looked elegant, even a little exotic. Her make-up – also by Elena – was a combination of light and dark with silver undertones and kohl definitions.
If Elena was a mermaid, Samar was a witch.
The two girls looked at each other and exchanged smiles just as a knock sounded on the door. Samar quirked an eyebrow at it and smirked. Shaking her head in mock chiding, Elena went to answer it.
Stefan stood there, looking gorgeous even in a simple white linen shirt left casually unbuttoned at the throat and grey pants. Samar saw his eyes widen and smile grow as he drank in the sight of the blonde beauty before him. He took her hand, bowed in a courtly fashion and kissed her knuckles.
Samar's breath caught and she let out a wistful sigh, watching them. Elena laughed softly, stepping up to him and into his arms.
"No sucking face – you'll ruin her makeup," Samar piped up, breaking their sappy mood. Stefan looked at her over Elena's shoulder and smiled. "You look very nice, Samar," he said politely.
Elena turned her head to give her a dirty look for spoiling the moment, then her eyes shifted to a point beyond the threshold. "I think your escort's here," she said, a funny note in her voice. Stefan grinned ruefully, as if sharing a private joke.
Someone moved into view.
Samar's eyes traveled from black leather boots, to ultra-black jeans that did nothing to hide the smooth, hard muscles of the legs, up to the tight-fitting – and flattering – black t-shirt beneath a leather jacket – also black. She finally looked at the face, as Elena and Stefan quietly left them alone.
The sleek locks of hair had been swept back save a few spiky bangs that fell over the forehead and temples of the coldly handsome face. Dark eyes swept her just as she had looked at him, but Makoe showed no expression, simple stood there and waited.
Why, Samar thought with surprise. He looks a bit like Stefan.
"What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone to pick Taura up," she said. She wished he'd show some reaction to her. But then, this was Makoe; what did you expect?
He shrugged. "She says she'll meet us there instead." He held out a hand to her in invitation. "Shall we?"
Samar couldn't help that her fingers shook a little as she slipped her hand into his. He must have noticed but didn't comment. The touch was not impersonal, however; his fingers interlaced themselves around hers and the grip was firm. Samar hid confusion and quietly followed him out.
Leon got up when they appeared in the living room. _He_ brightened visibly and smiled in appreciation at Samar's transformation although his delight faltered at the sight of their joined hands. He was dressed in much the same way Stefan was, in a moss-green shirt and slacks. He nodded in greeting and acknowledgement. "The others are waiting," was all he said, turning to the garage.
Makoe didn't release Samar until he handed her into passenger seat of the car (he held the door for her). Sitting in the familiar interior, waiting for him to come around the car and get in behind the wheel, the female vampire felt decidedly off balance. Makoe was acting as if they were on a date, yet had not tried to hide the fact that his _real_ date was meeting them at the club.
Maybe she ought to just pretend nothing was out of the ordinary and that they were merely going out for a normal hunt. But how was she supposed to do that when her traitorous heart started speeding up and singing at every little thing he did, like holding her hand and opening the door for her, or even simply looking at her – even if there was no expression that she could read?
He slipped into the driver's seat, the shush of leather on leather filling the air. The door shut and silence descended. Samar waited for him to start the car but he merely sat back for a moment.
"You look beautiful."
Samar's breath came sharply at that abrupt statement. She looked at him, wide eyed, with none of her usual asperity. "Thank you," she stammered and suddenly she was back among the trees with moonlight filtering through the leaves and a shadowy figure hovering over her.
His expression softened, she could have sworn, but searching the lines of his face, she could find no real evidence of the change. He reached a hand out, deliberate and moving slowly as if daring her to pull away, and ran his cool knuckles lightly over one cheek. The feathery light touch made her shiver pleasantly.
Then, without another word, he turned and started the car and they were off. And Samar was very, very confused.
* * *
She walked into the club – and gaped.
_El Gato_ was a trendy, rousing Latin club, decorated with careless, rugged and flaring grace. The lights didn't strobe; they roved lazily over the room. The room didn't vibrate with sound; it swayed, instead.
But what made Samar stare was the pair on the dance floor, whirling to racing salsa beat. Perhaps the floor had been packed with people but at the moment, everyone had moved back to give the couple room – and to watch in appreciation.
Stefan looked incredibly sexy in his careless attire, his action smooth and effortless, yet each movement held poise, control, force. Elena was his complement; light and graceful, flowing motion that merely changed direction and form but never really stopped.
Together, they were breathtaking.
Tristan appeared beside her, brushing past with a muttered, "Showoff." Samar tore her eyes away from the mesmerizing sight long to see him thread his way to where a band of olive-skinned musicians were supplying the music. Then her eyes were drawn back to the pair and there they stayed until the song wound to a breathless end.
Applause erupted from the watching crowd. Elena accepted the accolade with composed aplomb and Stefan looked surprisingly self-contained, as well, Samar noted.
A touch on her elbow made her realize that she and Makoe were still standing a little way inside the club. He put a hand to her back, applying pressure to guide her forward. Shaking her head, she scanned the room and spotted Leon at a table. By the time she and Makoe reached it, Stefan and Elena were already seated, the latter looking only a little breathless.
"Wow!" Samar said, plopping into the seat beside her. Makoe caught her eye before disappearing into the crowd and Samar felt a twinge of lost at his departure. Resolutely forcing her attention away, she looked at Elena.
The blonde, from what Samar could tell in the uncertain light of the club, was glowing and looking faintly smug. Stefan looked rather pleased, himself. "Haven't done that in a while," he murmured. At Samar's incredulous look, he smiled slightly. "One doesn't live five centuries without picking up a thing or two," he explains, too low to be overheard by those around. Unless one is a vampire, of course.
Leon, lounging easily in the overstuffed leather armchair on the other side of the little glass-and-chrome table, smirked teasingly at the Italian vampire. "It's not as difficult as it looks," he told Samar, who felt her expression twist in skepticism. Leon looked at Stefan for confirmation but the latter only shrugged. The easygoing vampire rolled his eyes as the beat of the music changed to a deep, rhythmic booming. "Ah," he said with some satisfaction and got up. To Samar's surprise, he held out a hand to her. "I'll prove it," he explained with a toothy smile. A trumpet broke into a lively riff just then.
Determined to enjoy herself despite Makoe's hot-and-cold mixed signals, Samar smiled back, daring but a little uncertain. "All right." She let him pull her up and onto the dance floor where other couples were bobbing along with the even, lively rhythm.
::This is called the samba,:: Leon explained, showing her the basic step-and-bob. Samar tried to imitate him and both ended up laughing as they bumped into each other or tromped on the other's toes. At least vampire reflexes – his and hers – kept Samar's toes from being mangled. As she got the hang of it, Leon showed her more moves and eventually, he spun her around, letting her find the steps instinctively. They still stumbled against each other from time to time, but that was only to be expected and both laughed over it.
Samar grinned up at him in delight as the song ended, joining the appreciative cheers and applause of the other dancers. A new tune started up, mellow and soft. Some couples headed off the dance floor to cool off; others stepped into each other's arms.
Samar glanced at Leon uncertainly, to which he raised inquiring eyebrows. ::This is a rhumba,:: he told her, holding out his hands in invitation. ::A lovers' dance.:: He smiled deprecatingly.
_A lovers' dance._ Samar's mind instantly went to Makoe. As if conjured up by her thoughts, the dark vampire appeared beside them.
"May I cut in?" he asked blandly, offering his hand in the customary gesture.
Leon looked surprised, then his expression closed and he nodded. He melted among the other dancing couples but Samar barely noticed.
"I don't-" she began uncertainly, looking at the gracefully moving couples around them. No way she could do _that_! Her words were cut off when Makoe slipped an arm around her waist and his fingers closed, firm and strong, pulling her close. His other hand cupped her fingers, fitting them correctly to his, palm to palm.
::It's not difficult.:: His thought made her shiver, silky and strong, wrapping her and smothering her protests. She felt him then, deep in her mind, wordlessly joined with her, as he had been that night after the race, showing her the steps of the dance, teaching her how to move with him.
She saw them together, in his mind, on the dance floor, moving in perfect unison with inhuman grace among the other dancers. She twisted, holding the provocative pose momentarily before spinning away from him and was tugged back to face him; they took two steps to the side and swayed almost sensuously together, bodies pressed close. He stepped back, hand sliding off her waist, as if leading her; she followed, only to come back into his arms and be whirled dizzyingly. He bent her over his arm and she let head fall back, baring her pale neck. A change in the grip of their joined hands and she executed a tight spin, coming back upright and pulled against him once again. The music was languid, sultry, drugging her although she was barely aware of it.
Dazed, she looks up at him, to find his face shadowed. Oddly, his eyes were bright and watchful. His expression, as ever, told her nothing of what he was feeling and thinking.
Mind closely entwined with his, she whispered, ::Makoe...don't you ever smile?::
She felt his amusement; cool and smooth, washing over her, although her eyes told her that nothing changed save a slight flicker in his eyes. Might have been a trick of the light.
::I'm sure I did, at some point,:: he returned.
::I've never seen you smile,:: she admitted, suddenly, unreasoningly, wanting him to smile at her. Maybe it would show her beyond doubt that she meant something special to him.
His next words chilled her, dispelling her hope, as if the cool tone actually touched her skin. ::What is there to smile about?::
She roused from her dreamy haze, anger and embarrassment searing. Sparked to daring, she stepped right up to him. Ignoring the dance now, she rose up on tiptoe and pressed herself fully against him. Twining her arms around his neck, she whispered mentally, fiercely, ::How about this?:: and kissed him.
She kissed him with everything she recalled from that night in the woods with him and everything she had been thinking about since then. Anger, confusion, longing, frustration and need were in the movement of her lips and her heart jumped, then soared as she felt him wrap his arms around her body and his mouth respond. _Yes!_
The song had ended by the time they came apart and Samar was aware of some gawkers. She blushed, but lifted her chin and ignored them, fixing her attention on the exasperating, enigmatic vampire still crushing her to him. ::Well? What do you think?:: she demanded, a little breathless, studying him.
::I think,:: he began solemnly, arms loosening. ::That your brother's going to come over here and beat me up any minute now.:: There was dry humor in that telepathy but that was all. He didn't seem as affected by their torrid kiss as she was and his expression remained unchanged.
Not a hint of a smile curved those lips she had caressed so stormily.
Stunned, crushed, Samar let him lead her back to their table. Tristan had returned and, indeed, he looked murderous. If looks could kill, Makoe would not have gotten across the room undead. There was a brief stare down between her brother and Makoe when they arrived at the table during which Samar noticed that their group had grown in the time she had been dancing.
Taura had arrived and she looked no happier than Tristan.
Samar felt herself bristling at the sight of the huntress. Her presence was an unpleasant reminder that tonight, Makoe was supposed to be 'dating' _her_, not Samar.
Tension around the table, was, needless to say, high. It lessened marginally when Tristan abruptly got up and left without a word, but Samar caught Elena glancing from her to Makoe to Taura and back with wide, blue eyes. Even Leon looked edgy. Karen, who had arrived with Taura, apparently, had eyebrows that just wouldn't come down.
Only Makoe seemed unaffected. "I'm glad you could make it," he said calmly. Did he sound amiable? Samar's heart sank further as he settled her into a chair and then seemed forget that she existed.
She watched as he offered to get the human a drink and, when she declined, watched him ask her to dance, ever so gallantly. When Taura accepted, looking surprised but still disgruntled, she stared after them, not caring that the others were gazing at her with varying expressions of sympathy or pity or, in Karen's case, speculation. Her gaze didn't leave the dark vampire and his human 'date' as they stepped onto the dance floor and a lump formed in her throat as she watched him hold Taura in his arms and twirl her as he had so recently guided Samar herself.
::Makoe...:: The faint, needy call slipped out before she could help herself.
::Not now, Samar.:: His mental tone was completely unaffected.
The lump in her throat thickened and she felt numb, as if she had just been dealt a stunning blow. The room faded to unreality, save the one couple on the dance floor. They turned and Samar gasped without realizing it.
Makoe was smiling.
::Why didn't you smile for me?:: The anguished question tore from her as she rose to her feet, every muscle tensed. Her fists were clenched at her sides.
He never even looked in her direction, continuing to dance with Taura as if nothing had happened. ::Why should I?::
Why? _Why?_ In answer, she threw at him all the images of them together, every kiss, every touch, every glance, every shared thought and feeling. ::What are these?:: she cried silently, hurling her telepathy across the room at him like a weapon.
Makoe didn't even flinch at the force of her mental bolt. ::There is no reason, no meaning behind those, Samar,:: he replied unflappably, never even taking his eyes off Taura.
:;You vile liar!::
::Then tell me what I'm doing here on the dance floor with this hunter?::
Samar was suffocating; she inhaled but could not breathe. _She didn't mean a single thing to him?_
She vaguely heard Elena say something, as if from a long way off. Dumbly, she turned to them, seeing their questioning, worried looks. It only made it worse, drove it all home. This was true; this was happening.
_No._ She had to get away from here, had to get away from _him_, from all her misguided hopes and foolish dreams. Choking, she stumbled blindly towards the exit.
* * *
"What's on your mind?"
Taura glanced up sharply at the vampire she was dancing with. There were couples around them doing fancy steps to the salsa beat but she had opted for simple freeform dancing so they were both just moving with the music, although he was a skillful enough dancer to lead her in the occasional twirl or dip.
He was incredibly handsome, she had to admit, with dark good looks and an enigmatic, untouchable air that drove some females absolutely wild.
Her reluctant attraction did nothing to soothe her annoyance; if anything, it only aggravated it.
"I was wondering why you bothered asking me here," she shot back with brutal honesty. "You were doing a fine job enjoying yourself without me." Was she jealous? Of course not!
Well... maybe a tad.
The vampire lifted an eyebrow urbanely. "Did you expect me to play the wallflower until you arrived?" he asked coolly, not at all contrite.
_Yes._ "No," she snapped rudely. "My point is, you didn't need me around this evening."
"You're the one who stipulated a group date," the dark vampire reminded her bluntly. "And a bet is a bet and a win should be claimed."
"Oh, so this is a principle thing, is it?" This guy just kept saying the wrong things. Was there anything he _could_ say that would be the right thing? Taura rather doubted it.
He gave her a piercing look, as if hearing her unspoken thoughts. Another annoying thing about vampires; the ability to read one's mind. "I could have staked for something else," he reminded blandly.
"Then why didn't you?" Taura was not about to be easily appeased.
"I thought a date might be...interesting. Educational." His tone was too casual. She looked at him suspiciously.
He changed the subject then. "Have you ever been this close to a vampire before?" His tone lowered and she thought she saw a faint smile play over his lips.
Was his tone flirtatious? Taura, slightly unnerved but hiding it, smiled with poisonous sweetness. "Lots of times. Just before staking them. "
His smile grew at that even as he made a censorious sound. "I meant a live one, with no murderous intent on either side."
Taura pretended to think it over, exaggeratedly taking a long time. "Hm...nope. I can say with certainty that I haven't." She looked up at him through her lashes. Was she flirting back at him?! Absolutely not!
But he wasn't looking at her. Swiveling her head to follow the direction of his gaze, she saw the female vampire he had been – ahem – dancing with earlier dash through the club entrance, head bowed.
Taura turned suspicious blue eyes back at his rapt, alert face. They had stopped dancing, their steps faltering and then dying altogether. Her features slowly set into a stony, ominous expression. "You're playing me," she accused in a low voice.
Dark, unfathomable eyes set in an impassive face turned back to her, their previous animation replaced with his usual emotionless mask. He didn't deny her accusation, simply looked at her. Her expression hardened further and she wrenched herself out of his arms furiously. Enraged at him for his trick, angry at herself for being played for a fool. "What am I, your substitute? If you want her, go and get her," she flung at him and stalked away, leaving him standing on the dance floor alone.
One or two nearby couples paused to look and exchange comments. "This guy... two girls...kiss..."
"We're leaving," Taura snapped unceremoniously to Karen. The blonde took one look at her friend's face and got up wordlessly. Taura threw a blazing gaze at Elena, and then swept over Stefan unseeing. Her face set in a taut mask, cut a direct line to the door.
She had no reason to stay.
* * *
He found her huddled against the side of his car.
::Samar,:: he said gently, bending to touch her shoulder. He wasn't surprised to find it trembling and he could feel the force of sobs held within her petite frame. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, her face tucked down and unseen.
She didn't respond to his touch; neither shying away not opening to it. Tentatively, he sat down beside her, leaning against the door of his car on the far side from the club. Her clothes – and his – may not stand such mistreatment, but at that moment, he didn't care. He put a careful hand around her shoulders, comforting and supportive.
::There now...:: he said awkwardly. ::Is there anything I can do?::
Still no response.
He dared to tighten his hand, pulling her closer and wrapped his other arm around her as well, hugging her protectively. ::Samar,:: he said again. ::I'm sorry.::
It took a while, but at last, she slumped fully against him. Her shaking increased and a muffled sound escaped her and she turned into him, hiding her face in his shirt. A torrent of words and stinging, sharp emotions unleashed with her tears. Incapacitating hurt and scalding anger, betrayal that stung like a whip and scalding self-mockery. Beneath it all, a sense of being lost. Her world had been uprooted and overturned; it felt like she did not know up from down and light from dark anymore.
::It's not _you_ who should be sorry; it's _him_!:: she raged. ::And me!::
Leon sighed and only held her; there was nothing else he could do. But her pain hurt him and within his mind, he fought his own demons. If only... Too late... Maybe...
Her shoulders, her entire body spasmed with each sob and Leon winced in sympathy. The doubt he had harbored ever since the night of the race blossomed into a glowing ember of anger. Each heave of the petite shoulders, each gasping sob fanned it, made it grow. The more he thought about it, the brighter his fury flamed. What was Makoe thinking, toying with Samar like that? In all the years the hunt had stayed together, never had the dark-haired vampire given any indication of romantic inclinations towards Samar. And given what had just occurred, he didn't have feelings for her at all. What was he doing? After a while, Leon stopped asking the questions and just clung to anger. Whatever his reasons, Makoe had hurt Samar and badly. It was uncalled for and the emotionless vampire would pay.
Leon would see to it.
Suddenly, it was as if he was looking through someone else's eyes. The door of the club opened, spilling light and sound onto the pavement. A figure stood silhouetted and framed in the threshold. Leon was startled but a quick probe told him who it was. It didn't explain the odd sense of being 'taken over' but the usually mild-mannered vampire was beyond caring at this moment.
Samar continued to be lost in her private hell and sobbing as if her heart were breaking. And maybe it was.
::I would speak with you.:: Simple words, the phrasing a little archaic as Leon slipped back to the vernacular he grew up with, but the blazing anger behind them needed no adornment. Through their odd shared senses, Leon knew when the dark eyes moved to the point where Leon was huddled with Samar, as if Makoe could look through night, and metal and leather, and see them. He knew when Makoe nodded once, not seeming at all surprised.
::I'm taking her home. I'll see you in the woods in two hours,:: Leon went on, recovering himself.
::Four. The night is young yet,:: Makoe countered nonchalantly and Leon had to suppress the urge to do him bodily harm. Mental amusement flooded his mind. ::You'll get your chance. Later,:: the cold voice assured him as Makoe released the door and disappeared back into the club.
Leon waited until Makoe was gone, then waited some more for Samar's sobs to subside to stillness.
* * *
It wasn't difficult to locate Makoe. The vampire's presence was like a shuttered lantern; he could choose to announce his location and no one would mistake the beacon of his mind. Or, if he did not wish to be found, he would not be.
More; the vampire had demonstrated before that his shields were selective as well, and could be tuned to whomever he wished so that some may see him while others did not.
Tonight, he did not hide from Leon. The seething, cold flame drew the angry, gaunt vampire through the woods. Up ahead was an odd pool of light, garishly bright and most certainly artificial. An odd thudding came at intervals.
The usually phlegmatic vampire came upon the odd scene and stopped.
Makoe was standing on an expanse of concrete with lines drawn upon it. On each end of the oblong, hoops were mounted on steel posts: a basketball court. Spotlights shone down mercilessly, illuminating every inch of the area.
The dark vampire casually threw the ball in his hands, every move relaxed, almost negligent. The black spangled ball sailed unerringly and fell through the hoop without touching the rim. Somehow, it bounced back at an angle and returned to Makoe's hands as if pulled by a string.
::Care for some on- on-one?::
Bemused, Leon merely shook his head. Makoe was still clad in the casual, tight black t-shirt and dark-gray slacks he had worn to the club; his jacket was stark against the concrete near the steel post. He didn't appear to be exerting himself in the least.
::You wanted to talk?:: the cold vampire prompted, shooting another flawless three-pointer.
::Samar,:: was all Leon got out before he became at a lost for words.
::You comforted her well, I trust?::
Leon could not believe the casual tone Makoe took and it sparked his protective anger all over again. ::What game are you playing, Aodhan?::
::Nothing, anymore,:: was the unruffled, cryptic reply.
Frustrated at the brush off, Leon stepped onto the court. He batted the ball aside on its return flight to Makoe's waiting hands and stood in front of the other vampire. Although he was physically taller than the other, they somehow ended up looking each other in the eye.
Leon's face felt like a mask; he guessed that it was set in a stubborn, grim expression. ::You hurt her. Why are you playing with her feelings?:: he sent the question lancing straight at other, daring him to give a indifferent answer; trying, by force of will, to drag the truth out of him.
Makoe looked as impassive as ever. ::What do you care, Morris?:: he threw back.
Taken aback by the question, Leon temporized. ::You hurt her for no reason that I can see. The hunt does not do that to each other. And she's only a young girl who had the bad sense to fall in love with you. She did not deserve to have her feelings crushed like that.::
::Firstly, Leon, you should be careful about calling hunt-bond into things.:: He left that obscure remark at that and went on, "Secondly, I think you and I both know that a few tears will not break her. She has to grow up sooner or later.::
Leon looked at him, stiff-lipped, unable to reply, unwilling to back down.
Unsettlingly, Makoe looked amused. ::If you want truth from me, you had better be ready to give in kind. Brother.:: The amusement vanished and the question was heavy and implacable as he repeated it, ::What do you care?::
Silence. Nerves stretched to breaking point. Leon's heart speeded up and pounded in his ears. His breath caught; his mouth felt like paper. Makoe was forcing his hand, calling his bluff. He _knew_ but was forcing Leon to admit it all the same.
Feeling oddly removed from himself, Leon said quietly, for the first time, ::I love her.:: Fear crashed on him as he put into words the emotion he had kept hidden deep within for so long.
Not a muscle changed on his face, but Leon had a sense of satisfaction from the dark vampire. ::I know. It's actually not so hard to see. Even Salvatore noticed.:: Leon's breath hitched again. ::And that is the why I did what I did.::
The easy, casual words made Leon blink. What? ::You hurt her feelings because I love her?:: he repeated, incredulous. Betrayal began creeping up his spine, chilling and burning him at the same time.
Without warning, his mind was snagged and images, impressions went by in a blur. Leon was helpless and could watch the story that unfolded in a daze. Makoe realized what lay behind the fatherly affection Leon showed Samar. He also realized how Tristan would react to anyone beginning a relationship with his sister and how Samar herself was oblivious to romantic love. And so Makoe had set himself up as trailbreaker. 'Better me than you' he had said that night when he and Samar had returned. He had been referring to Tristan's antagonism, then.
As suddenly as he had been ensnared, he was released and nearly stumbled backwards. He cupped one hand against his head, then shook to clear the sense of displacement. Brown eyes raised to meet impassive black ones.
::You broke her heart, cruelly, deliberately; that's supposed to help _me_ win her?:: he demanded. Leon straightened and crossed his arms. ::Forgive me if I don't quite believe all that. Brother.:: He nearly spat out that last bitterly. ::Even you could not be so misguided.::
The forgotten basketball made its presence felt, impacting Leon hard. It flew off into the darkness, then returned like Halley's comet, flying obediently into Makoe's fingers. The stunned expression on Leon's face must have amused Makoe for the mental voice came as close to laughing as it ever did, ::Haven't you ever heard the term 'on the rebound'?::
The basketball hit the backboard, and then danced on the rim of the hoop before falling neatly through it. Leon, eyeing it over his shoulder, stepped out of the way as it returned to Makoe like metal to lodestone.
::I do _not_ want to start a relationship with Samar, catching her on the rebound,:: he said emphatically.
Makoe shot and shrugged in the space of time during which his hands were empty. ::Whatever. Samar was only falling deeper and I had to kill her infatuation as quickly as possible.:: Holding the basketball, Makoe turned slightly and his tone was icy as he said, ::I'll not allow a female to think herself in love with me.::
Leon was stunned at the depth of intensity in that sentiment. ::Why?!:: he blurted.
He only got silence as deep and dark as the space between stars as a reply. Makoe started his rhythmic shooting of hoops again.
Leon frowned and began to say something else but Makoe beat him to it. ::So. Do you still want to beat the unliving daylights out of me?:: Again, that near-humor.
::Don't tempt me,:: Leon mock-growled, thinking of Samar shaking beneath his hands and the turmoil in her mind, recalling his own answering anguish. They both knew how unlikely it was for Leon to actually try and attack Makoe; he would not get very far unless Makoe stood there and _let_ himself be thrashed. Understanding Makoe's motives didn't make the situation any more pleasant, but at least it took the edge of his animosity. ::You treated her badly, Makoe.::
::It was the only way, Leon. She'll get over it. And if she doesn't, if she ends up hating me,:: a mental shrug, ::I'll survive.::
Leon wondered at Makoe's isolation, his way of letting nothing touch him. Oh, he might become annoyed or irritated, but nothing truly upset his inner balance. He never seemed to care about anything enough for that to happen.
::There is something else.::
The solemnity in that caught Leon unprepared. ::Yes?::
::This Turning business.::
Leon inhaled sharply. ::Yes?:: he said again.
::I think Tristan made it quite clear what he thinks of it. I also know Samar is thinking seriously about it. What about you?:: Makoe asked bluntly, the tempo of shoot, rebound, catch and shoot never faltering.
::I am, also,:: Leon said cautiously. Was this what he meant with that remark about the hunt. If he and Samar decided to be Turned, there was, essentially, no hunt left. Leon could not see Tristan and Makoe staying together on their own. In some odd way, Leon and Samar held the group together.
Makoe nodded. ::After what was said to Salvatore, perhaps it would be good if you spoke to Samar. I think she might be hesitant to say she wishes to be human again for fear of losing her place in the group. If you both Turn...::
A rather ideal situation and one that made Leon's eyes widen in wonder. He studied it for a while, looking at it from all angles. Yes, a most desirable arrangement.
Coming back to the present, Leon glanced at the cold vampire. ::And you?::
::I choose to remain a vampire.:: The answer was clipped and unhesitating; a firm decision obviously already made.
Leon nodded, not particularly surprised at this. He understood Samar's indecision all too well; neither of them had chosen to become vampires. Circumstances had stolen that choice from them. A sudden question struck Leon, one he had never thought to ask.
::How did you become a vampire?::
Again, that heavy silence. The ball flew into Makoe's hands and did not leave this time and the dark vampire was as still as any statue of bronze or concrete.
As he waited for an answer, pieces began falling into place, an incomplete puzzle, and suspicions began niggling at him. ::Does your breaking with Samar have anything to do with the fact that she might want to be Turned and you do not?:: he asked.
Still no reply. Leon stepped back in front of Makoe. ::We know nothing about you. Not that it mattered. But as a hunt, you know about our pasts and you are still a mystery to us. Did you choose to become a vampire? When were you made?::
Other questions began pouring out; why he was so Powerful and – if the negligent manipulation of the basketball was any indication – what other abilities did he have that they didn't know about?
Makoe's ebon eyes finally focused on Leon's face. One dark eyebrow raised faintly. ::You want to know?:: he asked as mildly as Leon could. Slightly unnerved, Leon nodded.
The dark eyes seem to glitter, becoming piercingly intense. ::I'll tell you. But there's a price. You'll have to do one thing I ask.::
The natural response to that was, of course, ::What?::
But instead of answering, Makoe raised an eyebrow. ::You'll find out. Do you still want to know?::
Leon narrowed his eyes at his hunt-mate, scrutinizing him. ::Yes,:: he said finally.
::Your word on it, then. My past for the performance of one task,:: Makoe stipulated clearly, tone cold.
One corner of Leon's lips jerked up. ::Your story had better be worth it.:: But he nodded agreement to Makoe's words.
::Done then!:: The ball leapt the dark vampire's hands, coming to life and settling as a spinning orb on the tip of his index finger. Leon's eyes were drawn to that motion momentarily – and captured. The black, spangled ball became a gray blur. Images whirled past his mental eye again, telling a wordless tale. His questions were answered, and the sense he got was that of a brief explanation that only hinted at a deeper, more intricate story in the background.
Aodhan was descended from a royal family; in a time when Druids had walked free, he had been a prince among his people. There had been an outlander criminal... a slave. He intrigued the prince with his quiet yet unservile manner, his fearlessness. It was as if he did not fear death, as if he chose to be in his lowly position, as if the joke was on his masters.
He had been a vampire.
Captivated with his Power, the prince had asked to be changed too, that he might share in that Power. And so...
Again, Leon came back to the present with a jolt. The basketball stopped spinning and Makoe began dribbling it casually, rhythmically. ::And so...:: the dark vampire trailed off and shrugged.
Leon stared at him, trying to adjust to his new knowledge. Makoe was a prince born. He had chosen his vampirism. He was over two _thousand_ years old.
And now he raced cars illegally?
::Have you ever regretted your choice?:: he asked finally.
The basketball was being dribbled idly from one hand to another, front and back, side to side. ::There have been moments, to be sure,:: was the cool reply. ::But I don't hang on to them, so what does it matter?::
Leon drew a deep breath. ::That's true.:: He lapsed into silence, trying to assimilate the information and wrap his mind around it. It explained a few things about the cold vampire, but also brought up many new questions.
::About your task,:: Makoe interrupted his thoughts. Leon came alert, focusing back on the other vampire. Makoe took his eyes off the bouncing ball, then caught it. As the echoes faded into the night-hushed forest, he told Leon. It was simple.
::Tell Samar.::
Leon's mind blanked momentarily. Two simple words that held absolutely no meaning for him in the space of a split second. Then Makoe's intent came into razor-sharp focus and Leon blanched. ::You can't be serious!::
::Can't I?:: Leon might have sworn he was amused, if the taller vampire had been paying attention to such things. ::Tell her how you feel, Leon. When the next Old One is dealt with,:: he specified.
::No!:: Leon protested violently. ::I will not force that knowledge on her. What good would it do?:: he demanded heatedly.
Makoe was unmoved. ::You're afraid she'll reject you. You think that by telling her, you will jeopardize your current relationship with her,:: he said, calling Leon's bluff. ::By not telling her, you are not protecting her, you're robbing her of a choice. As for what good it will do...:: he trailed off, inviting Leon to figure it out himself.
Leon's expression turned stubborn. ::I won't have my feelings color her reactions or make her think she has to reciprocate. If she feels anything for me, I will know and she will recognize my emotions as well. Until then, I will do _nothing_.::
::Many people do not know their own hearts very well,:: Makoe commented casually, then eyed Leon coolly. ::So you're reneging on your word?:: There was nothing binding Leon to their agreement but then, they both knew – now – that Makoe needed none.
The usually laid-back vampire tensed, not going down without a fight.
Makoe's telepathy slid past his shields and sounded silkily in his mind, despite the cold impatience in the tone, ::I wouldn't normally meddle with anyone's love life, but time is ticking away, Morris.:: The mind-speech unraveled into thought and images. In essence, Makoe showed him Samar's dilemma about Turning and vampirism. She had to decide soon, before Elena completed her task, or she would lose her chance. And her choice should not be hampered by her fear of being abandoned. Leon must tell her how he feels, and that he is also considering being Turned, so that she will know that she will not be abandoned should she choose humanity.
When Makoe released Leon's mind, the brown-haired vampire looked...resigned. ::I'll tell her.:: Just saying the words gave him pangs of panic.
Makoe nodded once, never showing any expression. He tucked the basketball under his arm and started off towards the cabin, apparently closing and dismissing the discussion. Leon wordlessly followed. Along the way, he had time to consider the conversation and began staring at the back of Makoe's head as if trying to see into his thoughts.
Why was the dark vampire so concerned about Samar?
* * *
The room was pitch black, save the pyramid of light under the single, low-hung lamp. Within that wedge of light, a plain, wooden chair stood on cold concrete.
Sam Conard was led to that chair and unceremoniously plunked into it. The two well-dressed thugs who had brought him there melted into the shadows although their presence continued to weigh on Sam's mind.
A small sound just beyond the circle of light and the toe of a polished leather shoe appeared, looking oddly disembodied although Sam knew the man wearing the shoe would have bright red hair like the pelt of a fox and lazy eyes the color of amber in sunlight. The mental image brought shivers down his back.
"Mr. Conard," the cultured voice began patiently. "You have been given many opportunities to repay your debt to this company and have failed to do so on every occasion." Another minute shift in posture and the sound of well-oiled springs as an expensive chair reclined. "Tell me. What are we do to with you?" the clinically polite voice invited.
"Look," Sam spat. "I already told you, I'm trying to get you your money. But it don't come easy. You'll have to give me more time."
"Time?" A subliminal chuckle. "I bought your wife some time, didn't I, with that money?"
Sam snarled but didn't reply. After a moment, the unseen man spoke again.
"I'm afraid, Mr. Conard, that your time is up. We've given you sufficient leeway and you've not lived up to your end of the bargain. We cannot let that stand. It's bad for business, nothing personal. I'm sure you understand," the man said with impersonal, fake regret.
Sam sneered. "Marge is dead! Your money didn't buy her nothing, in the end. You think you're scaring me? There's nothing you can do to me. Killing me would be a mercy!" A bitter laugh tore from his throat.
The chair straightened abruptly with a subliminal creak and the leather shoes came further into the light, attached to impeccably cut grey trousers. The sight of the half-shadowed face tight with anger killed Sam's laughter and his hackles went up.
The face smoothed back into its customary urbane mask. The blaze in the tiger-eyes dimmed to the uncanny shade of amber in shadow and the sensuous lips smiled.
"Is that so?" the man asked silkily.
Hands slid into the trousers' pockets, pushing back the matching grey coat and clearly showed the fine linen shirt and tasteful pinstripe tie was held in place with a silver tie-pin. "Well, then, perhaps we can oblige you."
_They're going to kill me._ The thought gripped Sam with absolute certainty. The sudden, looming possibility of that froze him without thought or emotion. He could only stare at the red-haired man in front of him.
The way the man's golden eyes swept over him – as if examining a horse he thought of buying –sent more involuntary shivers down Sam's back. Some had called Emson McModrey the devil himself but Sam had been desperate for the loan in hopes that the best care would help his beloved wife overcome cancer. He hadn't listened to anyone's warning then, but they came back to haunt him now.
"A pity. You may have proved useful," McModrey commented eyeing him coolly and Sam swore he saw himself caught and reflected behind those uncanny yellow orbs.
"But. We may have another use for you," McModrey said, suddenly brisk, and Sam let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. His next words dispelled any relief Sam felt in that brief moment.
"Yes, Mr. Conard. We may get our pound of flesh from you, yet," McModrey said. The phrasing made Sam shiver uncontrollably. _Some things may be worse than death._ The words came into his head like a message.
"Are you cold?" the clipped, cultured voice asked courteously.
Sam jolted upright. "N-not at all." He must show no weakness! he thought desperately.
McModrey snapped his fingers with disapproving impatience. "Oh, come, come, man, no stuttering and fidgeting. It's very unbecoming."
Abruptly, Sam felt his entire body go numb and leaden. He could blink and draw breath, but that was all.
"Now then, let us begin." McModrey stepped fully into the light and his hair shone like flame. His face was sculpted to an angelic purity but the expression in his eyes was twisted. "First, let's get you warmed up."
He didn't do anything. Sam was sure he didn't do anything. But suddenly the chair he was sitting on was on fire. Sam couldn't move but he could _feel_ the flames licking at his clothes and then his flesh. He couldn't scream but he could inhale and the fumes and the smell of burning skin and hair caught in his throat.
With burning, tearing eyes, he looked at Emson McModrey, who stood just inside the circle of light, hands casually tucked into his trousers pockets and watched without any sign of being affected by the man in the chair burning alive.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you, Sam? Some things are worse than death," McModrey said and smiled pleasantly, revealing elongated, razor-sharp canines.
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* Thoughts? Comments? Review!
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
* Author's Note(s)
Date posted: 21 June 2003
* Late again! In my defence, RL has been... eventful. To make up for it (I hope), this chapter is almost twice as long as previous chapters. FYI, an example of samba music is the ever fun and infectious 'Cuban Pete' (you know, The Mask, chic, chicky boom?). And for a taste of what rhumba is like, listen to Diana Krall's sultry 'The Look of Love' Thanks to Moreta for edits and comments!
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~ Forty Seven ~
"Stefan, there's something I've wanted to ask you."
The vampire looked up with a faint smile and even that made Jacintha blush. Beneath the table, Elena's knee nudged his meaningfully and they exchanged quick glances. It was obvious that this new Turned was painfully infatuated with Stefan and it was hard not to notice. "Yes?" he asked.
"Are...are you going to be Turned?" she blurted, flushing a deeper red. Conversation around the table died quite rapidly as the people around them stopped to listen to his answer.
A bit self-consciously, he sipped his juice – it was all he was having and he was here mostly to keep Elena company while she ate and talked to the Turned. In the next room, the television was abruptly shut off. A glance in that direction showed the vampires all looking in his direction, Samar draped over the back of her armchair like an odd puppy.
Everyone was still waiting for his answer and the silence was bordering on awkward now. Elena sat quietly beside him, letting him answer for himself.
"Well, actually..." he began. "I..." The weight of gazes from vampires and Turned alike rested on him and he found it hard for the words to come out. Elena shot him an odd look, then twirled a strand of spaghetti around her fork.
"I am."
He smiled at Jacintha and nodded, then glanced at the vampires. "With the next batch, actually," he added. There was a cheer or two from the kitchen and many smiles. Conversation picked up after that, returning to normal. The lack of telepathic commentary at this news was a resounding silence, however.
Stefan returned the smiles and nods, feeling like one might at one's first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. "Hi, I'm Stefan and I'm a vampire. I haven't drank blood in two days." Wincing a little at that mental image, he cupped Elena's elbow in one palm. "I'm going to talk to the rest. Will you be all right getting back to the cabin?" he asked.
She shot him a sideways glance in reply. "As if you need to ask. Go on," she sent off, looking faintly concerned.
He squeezed her elbow reassuringly and excused himself from the other diners. He stepped into the next room and raised his eyebrows at the vampires. In wordless agreement, they all rose and started back to their cabin. Tristan did need a tug on his sleeve from Samar and a pointed stare from Makoe before he got out of his chair, though.
They drifted silently through the forest and only began the conversation when all were seated in the living area.
"I intended to tell you all, but didn't know how to bring it up," Stefan opened when they all looked at him expectantly. "Do you have any problems with this?" Not that he would change his mind, but he'd at least like to hear if they were unhappy with his decision.
"Well, I can't say it's unexpected, Stefan," Leon said quietly. "And that Turned that looks at you with puppy-dog eyes did put you in a bit of a spot," he added with customary dry humor. Stefan mock-scowled at Leon for laughing at his predicament but was relieved that the mild vampire didn't seem to have any objections to his choice.
He looked at Makoe inquiringly. The shorter vampire merely shrugged. "It's your life, Salvatore," he said shortly then fixed his detached eyes on Stefan fully to emphasize his next words. "But humans and ex-vampires have no part in the hunt. If you become Turned, you're no longer one of us," he said bluntly.
Stefan thought he saw Samar pale at this pronouncement but he couldn't be sure. Makoe's eyes caught his and he nodded. "I understand."
"So you've chosen, have you? That's your final decision?" Tristan demanded belligerently.
Stefan looked away from Makoe to meet the tall vampire's hazel eyes evenly. "Yes."
Tristan's lips drew back in a sneer.
::Tristan!:: Makoe snapped and Stefan saw Tristan suppress a wince.
The hyperactive vampire didn't back down but turned his bared teeth on Makoe instead. Stefan watched the stare-down, suspecting that a private argument was going on as well. Finally, Tristan glared at Stefan. "Your loss," he growled.
Uneasy silence fell and Stefan groped for words to fill it. He only found one question.
"Do any of you wanted to be Turned as well?"
* * *
Elena chose that moment to return. Distracted by her arrival, Samar lost the chance to garner clues from the others' reactions to Stefan's graceless question. All five heads snapped towards the blonde standing just inside the threshold, the lingering tension in the room finding a common focus.
Elena froze and looked at them warily. Seeing her expression, Stefan stood and went to her. "Hi," Samar heard him say softly, planting a quick kiss on the crown of her head – a gesture, Samar mused, meant to reassure. He tugged her to sit beside him, resuming his earlier seat.
As they settled, Samar looked around, her mind turning back to that question. Her eyes came to rest on Makoe and lingered there. The cold vampire was as expressionless as ever; she could not tell what he was thinking at all. Tristan was also staring at Makoe, Samar noticed. Possibly having a private argument? Leon – Samar looked at the phlegmatic vampire and found him watching her with an odd expression of concern, as if he knew the unease in her mind.
Makoe's earlier words to Stefan replayed in her mind. 'Humans and ex-vampires have no part in the hunt. If you become Turned, you're no longer one of us.'
Did Makoe mean any of them, or just Stefan? Did that mean that if she chose to be Turned, she would lose the only family she had left? He must know that she's considering it, from their conversation in the woods the other night. Was this his way of warning her?
Tristan's reaction had not been lost on her either. She wondered what her brother would say if she announced that she also wanted to be Turned. Would he sneer and turn his back on her as well?
Outwardly, the silence reigned. Stefan's question hung in the air ominously, something no one wanted to broach but everyone – with the possible exception of Tristan – was thinking about. No one seemed to know what to say, even Elena, who sat stiff and rigid beside Stefan.
Samar fought the urge to bury her face in her hands and shake it; she was so confused. About Makoe, about the decision to be Turned, about what she wanted. The more she thought about it, the more topsy-turvy everything seemed to become. She couldn't deal with this. Forcefully, she made herself think of other things.
It was amazing what one's psyche came up with in times of need.
"Look at all these gloomy faces!" Her exclamation made the others look at her and she pretended to survey them with a critical eye. "It's been nothing but angst and doom around here lately. And to think I used to want to tag along because I thought you were having fun!" she sniffed in disgust and shook her head. "Tsk! Let's go downtown tonight! Hit a few clubs, forget everything and just relax. Celebrate Elena's kicking Klaus' ass!" She grinned at the blonde, whose expression changed to surprise.
Samar spied Tristan's doubtful look and she scowled at him warningly when he opened his mouth to protest. "If you say a word about me being too young...!"
Her brother gave her an unimpressed snort then looked from her to Makoe and back. Sometimes, Tristan was more shrewd – or maybe just paranoid – than people gave him credit for. Like now. "Nah. I was just thinking that Makoe hasn't taken his little vampire hunter girlfriend out for that date he won yet."
Samar held her breath as she watched the cold vampire fastened his eyes on her brother. He was silent for a moment and Samar waited for the explosion to come.
"Good idea. I'll call her."
Samar blinked. Did Makoe just say that he would call that... hunter – that human – to come out with them? When she, Samar, had proposed a night of fun? She couldn't believe her _ears_! Of all the nerve of the man!
Leon looked worried and more worried.
"Fine. Whatever. You boys run along. Go pick up your bimbo. Just stay out of our way." Samar rose and stalked off to the rooms, grabbing Elena's wrist on the way and almost hauling her along. "We girls have work to do."
Samar nudged Elena into the room she shared with Stefan and disappeared into her own room, returning in short order with clothes and cosmetics bag. She banished Stefan from the room, barely giving him time to grab a change of clothes before shutting the door to the room and the external door of the adjoining bathroom.
The next two hours were filled with arcane things girls before a night out. Bubble bath, manicure, hair treatment, skin-pampering cosmetics, facial mask, hair styling, make up... Elena was bewildered at first but quickly fell in with the program. The girls chatted lightly, giggling a little.
This simple girlish fun was something Samar had not had in thirty years and she was surprised at how much she missed it. The relaxed her a little, taking the edge off the outrage/disappointment that Taura would be around this evening.
At the end of two hours, Samar sat in front of the dresser and stared at the image it framed.
Elena looked like a mermaid; her iridescent top was covered with scale-like sequins. The asymmetrical neckline left one shoulder bare and the hem echoed the tapering slant. Below that, she wore matching aquamarine pants that belled out slightly below the knees. Her straight gold hair fell around her shoulders with two locks at her temples that were braided and beaded. The lapis lazuli eyes were dark in contrast with the sparkling greenish eye makeup she used.
Beside her, Samar felt like a shadow. The dress she wore was black, with black on black embroidery, and fit like a second skin. The hem hung two inches above her knees and a slit ran up one side to bare an expanse of thigh. High-heeled sandals that she had had to strap herself into gave her added height and made her legs look longer – the wonders of optical illusions. Elena had piled her hair up into a dizzying swirl of black and deep pink – it actually looked elegant, even a little exotic. Her make-up – also by Elena – was a combination of light and dark with silver undertones and kohl definitions.
If Elena was a mermaid, Samar was a witch.
The two girls looked at each other and exchanged smiles just as a knock sounded on the door. Samar quirked an eyebrow at it and smirked. Shaking her head in mock chiding, Elena went to answer it.
Stefan stood there, looking gorgeous even in a simple white linen shirt left casually unbuttoned at the throat and grey pants. Samar saw his eyes widen and smile grow as he drank in the sight of the blonde beauty before him. He took her hand, bowed in a courtly fashion and kissed her knuckles.
Samar's breath caught and she let out a wistful sigh, watching them. Elena laughed softly, stepping up to him and into his arms.
"No sucking face – you'll ruin her makeup," Samar piped up, breaking their sappy mood. Stefan looked at her over Elena's shoulder and smiled. "You look very nice, Samar," he said politely.
Elena turned her head to give her a dirty look for spoiling the moment, then her eyes shifted to a point beyond the threshold. "I think your escort's here," she said, a funny note in her voice. Stefan grinned ruefully, as if sharing a private joke.
Someone moved into view.
Samar's eyes traveled from black leather boots, to ultra-black jeans that did nothing to hide the smooth, hard muscles of the legs, up to the tight-fitting – and flattering – black t-shirt beneath a leather jacket – also black. She finally looked at the face, as Elena and Stefan quietly left them alone.
The sleek locks of hair had been swept back save a few spiky bangs that fell over the forehead and temples of the coldly handsome face. Dark eyes swept her just as she had looked at him, but Makoe showed no expression, simple stood there and waited.
Why, Samar thought with surprise. He looks a bit like Stefan.
"What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone to pick Taura up," she said. She wished he'd show some reaction to her. But then, this was Makoe; what did you expect?
He shrugged. "She says she'll meet us there instead." He held out a hand to her in invitation. "Shall we?"
Samar couldn't help that her fingers shook a little as she slipped her hand into his. He must have noticed but didn't comment. The touch was not impersonal, however; his fingers interlaced themselves around hers and the grip was firm. Samar hid confusion and quietly followed him out.
Leon got up when they appeared in the living room. _He_ brightened visibly and smiled in appreciation at Samar's transformation although his delight faltered at the sight of their joined hands. He was dressed in much the same way Stefan was, in a moss-green shirt and slacks. He nodded in greeting and acknowledgement. "The others are waiting," was all he said, turning to the garage.
Makoe didn't release Samar until he handed her into passenger seat of the car (he held the door for her). Sitting in the familiar interior, waiting for him to come around the car and get in behind the wheel, the female vampire felt decidedly off balance. Makoe was acting as if they were on a date, yet had not tried to hide the fact that his _real_ date was meeting them at the club.
Maybe she ought to just pretend nothing was out of the ordinary and that they were merely going out for a normal hunt. But how was she supposed to do that when her traitorous heart started speeding up and singing at every little thing he did, like holding her hand and opening the door for her, or even simply looking at her – even if there was no expression that she could read?
He slipped into the driver's seat, the shush of leather on leather filling the air. The door shut and silence descended. Samar waited for him to start the car but he merely sat back for a moment.
"You look beautiful."
Samar's breath came sharply at that abrupt statement. She looked at him, wide eyed, with none of her usual asperity. "Thank you," she stammered and suddenly she was back among the trees with moonlight filtering through the leaves and a shadowy figure hovering over her.
His expression softened, she could have sworn, but searching the lines of his face, she could find no real evidence of the change. He reached a hand out, deliberate and moving slowly as if daring her to pull away, and ran his cool knuckles lightly over one cheek. The feathery light touch made her shiver pleasantly.
Then, without another word, he turned and started the car and they were off. And Samar was very, very confused.
* * *
She walked into the club – and gaped.
_El Gato_ was a trendy, rousing Latin club, decorated with careless, rugged and flaring grace. The lights didn't strobe; they roved lazily over the room. The room didn't vibrate with sound; it swayed, instead.
But what made Samar stare was the pair on the dance floor, whirling to racing salsa beat. Perhaps the floor had been packed with people but at the moment, everyone had moved back to give the couple room – and to watch in appreciation.
Stefan looked incredibly sexy in his careless attire, his action smooth and effortless, yet each movement held poise, control, force. Elena was his complement; light and graceful, flowing motion that merely changed direction and form but never really stopped.
Together, they were breathtaking.
Tristan appeared beside her, brushing past with a muttered, "Showoff." Samar tore her eyes away from the mesmerizing sight long to see him thread his way to where a band of olive-skinned musicians were supplying the music. Then her eyes were drawn back to the pair and there they stayed until the song wound to a breathless end.
Applause erupted from the watching crowd. Elena accepted the accolade with composed aplomb and Stefan looked surprisingly self-contained, as well, Samar noted.
A touch on her elbow made her realize that she and Makoe were still standing a little way inside the club. He put a hand to her back, applying pressure to guide her forward. Shaking her head, she scanned the room and spotted Leon at a table. By the time she and Makoe reached it, Stefan and Elena were already seated, the latter looking only a little breathless.
"Wow!" Samar said, plopping into the seat beside her. Makoe caught her eye before disappearing into the crowd and Samar felt a twinge of lost at his departure. Resolutely forcing her attention away, she looked at Elena.
The blonde, from what Samar could tell in the uncertain light of the club, was glowing and looking faintly smug. Stefan looked rather pleased, himself. "Haven't done that in a while," he murmured. At Samar's incredulous look, he smiled slightly. "One doesn't live five centuries without picking up a thing or two," he explains, too low to be overheard by those around. Unless one is a vampire, of course.
Leon, lounging easily in the overstuffed leather armchair on the other side of the little glass-and-chrome table, smirked teasingly at the Italian vampire. "It's not as difficult as it looks," he told Samar, who felt her expression twist in skepticism. Leon looked at Stefan for confirmation but the latter only shrugged. The easygoing vampire rolled his eyes as the beat of the music changed to a deep, rhythmic booming. "Ah," he said with some satisfaction and got up. To Samar's surprise, he held out a hand to her. "I'll prove it," he explained with a toothy smile. A trumpet broke into a lively riff just then.
Determined to enjoy herself despite Makoe's hot-and-cold mixed signals, Samar smiled back, daring but a little uncertain. "All right." She let him pull her up and onto the dance floor where other couples were bobbing along with the even, lively rhythm.
::This is called the samba,:: Leon explained, showing her the basic step-and-bob. Samar tried to imitate him and both ended up laughing as they bumped into each other or tromped on the other's toes. At least vampire reflexes – his and hers – kept Samar's toes from being mangled. As she got the hang of it, Leon showed her more moves and eventually, he spun her around, letting her find the steps instinctively. They still stumbled against each other from time to time, but that was only to be expected and both laughed over it.
Samar grinned up at him in delight as the song ended, joining the appreciative cheers and applause of the other dancers. A new tune started up, mellow and soft. Some couples headed off the dance floor to cool off; others stepped into each other's arms.
Samar glanced at Leon uncertainly, to which he raised inquiring eyebrows. ::This is a rhumba,:: he told her, holding out his hands in invitation. ::A lovers' dance.:: He smiled deprecatingly.
_A lovers' dance._ Samar's mind instantly went to Makoe. As if conjured up by her thoughts, the dark vampire appeared beside them.
"May I cut in?" he asked blandly, offering his hand in the customary gesture.
Leon looked surprised, then his expression closed and he nodded. He melted among the other dancing couples but Samar barely noticed.
"I don't-" she began uncertainly, looking at the gracefully moving couples around them. No way she could do _that_! Her words were cut off when Makoe slipped an arm around her waist and his fingers closed, firm and strong, pulling her close. His other hand cupped her fingers, fitting them correctly to his, palm to palm.
::It's not difficult.:: His thought made her shiver, silky and strong, wrapping her and smothering her protests. She felt him then, deep in her mind, wordlessly joined with her, as he had been that night after the race, showing her the steps of the dance, teaching her how to move with him.
She saw them together, in his mind, on the dance floor, moving in perfect unison with inhuman grace among the other dancers. She twisted, holding the provocative pose momentarily before spinning away from him and was tugged back to face him; they took two steps to the side and swayed almost sensuously together, bodies pressed close. He stepped back, hand sliding off her waist, as if leading her; she followed, only to come back into his arms and be whirled dizzyingly. He bent her over his arm and she let head fall back, baring her pale neck. A change in the grip of their joined hands and she executed a tight spin, coming back upright and pulled against him once again. The music was languid, sultry, drugging her although she was barely aware of it.
Dazed, she looks up at him, to find his face shadowed. Oddly, his eyes were bright and watchful. His expression, as ever, told her nothing of what he was feeling and thinking.
Mind closely entwined with his, she whispered, ::Makoe...don't you ever smile?::
She felt his amusement; cool and smooth, washing over her, although her eyes told her that nothing changed save a slight flicker in his eyes. Might have been a trick of the light.
::I'm sure I did, at some point,:: he returned.
::I've never seen you smile,:: she admitted, suddenly, unreasoningly, wanting him to smile at her. Maybe it would show her beyond doubt that she meant something special to him.
His next words chilled her, dispelling her hope, as if the cool tone actually touched her skin. ::What is there to smile about?::
She roused from her dreamy haze, anger and embarrassment searing. Sparked to daring, she stepped right up to him. Ignoring the dance now, she rose up on tiptoe and pressed herself fully against him. Twining her arms around his neck, she whispered mentally, fiercely, ::How about this?:: and kissed him.
She kissed him with everything she recalled from that night in the woods with him and everything she had been thinking about since then. Anger, confusion, longing, frustration and need were in the movement of her lips and her heart jumped, then soared as she felt him wrap his arms around her body and his mouth respond. _Yes!_
The song had ended by the time they came apart and Samar was aware of some gawkers. She blushed, but lifted her chin and ignored them, fixing her attention on the exasperating, enigmatic vampire still crushing her to him. ::Well? What do you think?:: she demanded, a little breathless, studying him.
::I think,:: he began solemnly, arms loosening. ::That your brother's going to come over here and beat me up any minute now.:: There was dry humor in that telepathy but that was all. He didn't seem as affected by their torrid kiss as she was and his expression remained unchanged.
Not a hint of a smile curved those lips she had caressed so stormily.
Stunned, crushed, Samar let him lead her back to their table. Tristan had returned and, indeed, he looked murderous. If looks could kill, Makoe would not have gotten across the room undead. There was a brief stare down between her brother and Makoe when they arrived at the table during which Samar noticed that their group had grown in the time she had been dancing.
Taura had arrived and she looked no happier than Tristan.
Samar felt herself bristling at the sight of the huntress. Her presence was an unpleasant reminder that tonight, Makoe was supposed to be 'dating' _her_, not Samar.
Tension around the table, was, needless to say, high. It lessened marginally when Tristan abruptly got up and left without a word, but Samar caught Elena glancing from her to Makoe to Taura and back with wide, blue eyes. Even Leon looked edgy. Karen, who had arrived with Taura, apparently, had eyebrows that just wouldn't come down.
Only Makoe seemed unaffected. "I'm glad you could make it," he said calmly. Did he sound amiable? Samar's heart sank further as he settled her into a chair and then seemed forget that she existed.
She watched as he offered to get the human a drink and, when she declined, watched him ask her to dance, ever so gallantly. When Taura accepted, looking surprised but still disgruntled, she stared after them, not caring that the others were gazing at her with varying expressions of sympathy or pity or, in Karen's case, speculation. Her gaze didn't leave the dark vampire and his human 'date' as they stepped onto the dance floor and a lump formed in her throat as she watched him hold Taura in his arms and twirl her as he had so recently guided Samar herself.
::Makoe...:: The faint, needy call slipped out before she could help herself.
::Not now, Samar.:: His mental tone was completely unaffected.
The lump in her throat thickened and she felt numb, as if she had just been dealt a stunning blow. The room faded to unreality, save the one couple on the dance floor. They turned and Samar gasped without realizing it.
Makoe was smiling.
::Why didn't you smile for me?:: The anguished question tore from her as she rose to her feet, every muscle tensed. Her fists were clenched at her sides.
He never even looked in her direction, continuing to dance with Taura as if nothing had happened. ::Why should I?::
Why? _Why?_ In answer, she threw at him all the images of them together, every kiss, every touch, every glance, every shared thought and feeling. ::What are these?:: she cried silently, hurling her telepathy across the room at him like a weapon.
Makoe didn't even flinch at the force of her mental bolt. ::There is no reason, no meaning behind those, Samar,:: he replied unflappably, never even taking his eyes off Taura.
:;You vile liar!::
::Then tell me what I'm doing here on the dance floor with this hunter?::
Samar was suffocating; she inhaled but could not breathe. _She didn't mean a single thing to him?_
She vaguely heard Elena say something, as if from a long way off. Dumbly, she turned to them, seeing their questioning, worried looks. It only made it worse, drove it all home. This was true; this was happening.
_No._ She had to get away from here, had to get away from _him_, from all her misguided hopes and foolish dreams. Choking, she stumbled blindly towards the exit.
* * *
"What's on your mind?"
Taura glanced up sharply at the vampire she was dancing with. There were couples around them doing fancy steps to the salsa beat but she had opted for simple freeform dancing so they were both just moving with the music, although he was a skillful enough dancer to lead her in the occasional twirl or dip.
He was incredibly handsome, she had to admit, with dark good looks and an enigmatic, untouchable air that drove some females absolutely wild.
Her reluctant attraction did nothing to soothe her annoyance; if anything, it only aggravated it.
"I was wondering why you bothered asking me here," she shot back with brutal honesty. "You were doing a fine job enjoying yourself without me." Was she jealous? Of course not!
Well... maybe a tad.
The vampire lifted an eyebrow urbanely. "Did you expect me to play the wallflower until you arrived?" he asked coolly, not at all contrite.
_Yes._ "No," she snapped rudely. "My point is, you didn't need me around this evening."
"You're the one who stipulated a group date," the dark vampire reminded her bluntly. "And a bet is a bet and a win should be claimed."
"Oh, so this is a principle thing, is it?" This guy just kept saying the wrong things. Was there anything he _could_ say that would be the right thing? Taura rather doubted it.
He gave her a piercing look, as if hearing her unspoken thoughts. Another annoying thing about vampires; the ability to read one's mind. "I could have staked for something else," he reminded blandly.
"Then why didn't you?" Taura was not about to be easily appeased.
"I thought a date might be...interesting. Educational." His tone was too casual. She looked at him suspiciously.
He changed the subject then. "Have you ever been this close to a vampire before?" His tone lowered and she thought she saw a faint smile play over his lips.
Was his tone flirtatious? Taura, slightly unnerved but hiding it, smiled with poisonous sweetness. "Lots of times. Just before staking them. "
His smile grew at that even as he made a censorious sound. "I meant a live one, with no murderous intent on either side."
Taura pretended to think it over, exaggeratedly taking a long time. "Hm...nope. I can say with certainty that I haven't." She looked up at him through her lashes. Was she flirting back at him?! Absolutely not!
But he wasn't looking at her. Swiveling her head to follow the direction of his gaze, she saw the female vampire he had been – ahem – dancing with earlier dash through the club entrance, head bowed.
Taura turned suspicious blue eyes back at his rapt, alert face. They had stopped dancing, their steps faltering and then dying altogether. Her features slowly set into a stony, ominous expression. "You're playing me," she accused in a low voice.
Dark, unfathomable eyes set in an impassive face turned back to her, their previous animation replaced with his usual emotionless mask. He didn't deny her accusation, simply looked at her. Her expression hardened further and she wrenched herself out of his arms furiously. Enraged at him for his trick, angry at herself for being played for a fool. "What am I, your substitute? If you want her, go and get her," she flung at him and stalked away, leaving him standing on the dance floor alone.
One or two nearby couples paused to look and exchange comments. "This guy... two girls...kiss..."
"We're leaving," Taura snapped unceremoniously to Karen. The blonde took one look at her friend's face and got up wordlessly. Taura threw a blazing gaze at Elena, and then swept over Stefan unseeing. Her face set in a taut mask, cut a direct line to the door.
She had no reason to stay.
* * *
He found her huddled against the side of his car.
::Samar,:: he said gently, bending to touch her shoulder. He wasn't surprised to find it trembling and he could feel the force of sobs held within her petite frame. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, her face tucked down and unseen.
She didn't respond to his touch; neither shying away not opening to it. Tentatively, he sat down beside her, leaning against the door of his car on the far side from the club. Her clothes – and his – may not stand such mistreatment, but at that moment, he didn't care. He put a careful hand around her shoulders, comforting and supportive.
::There now...:: he said awkwardly. ::Is there anything I can do?::
Still no response.
He dared to tighten his hand, pulling her closer and wrapped his other arm around her as well, hugging her protectively. ::Samar,:: he said again. ::I'm sorry.::
It took a while, but at last, she slumped fully against him. Her shaking increased and a muffled sound escaped her and she turned into him, hiding her face in his shirt. A torrent of words and stinging, sharp emotions unleashed with her tears. Incapacitating hurt and scalding anger, betrayal that stung like a whip and scalding self-mockery. Beneath it all, a sense of being lost. Her world had been uprooted and overturned; it felt like she did not know up from down and light from dark anymore.
::It's not _you_ who should be sorry; it's _him_!:: she raged. ::And me!::
Leon sighed and only held her; there was nothing else he could do. But her pain hurt him and within his mind, he fought his own demons. If only... Too late... Maybe...
Her shoulders, her entire body spasmed with each sob and Leon winced in sympathy. The doubt he had harbored ever since the night of the race blossomed into a glowing ember of anger. Each heave of the petite shoulders, each gasping sob fanned it, made it grow. The more he thought about it, the brighter his fury flamed. What was Makoe thinking, toying with Samar like that? In all the years the hunt had stayed together, never had the dark-haired vampire given any indication of romantic inclinations towards Samar. And given what had just occurred, he didn't have feelings for her at all. What was he doing? After a while, Leon stopped asking the questions and just clung to anger. Whatever his reasons, Makoe had hurt Samar and badly. It was uncalled for and the emotionless vampire would pay.
Leon would see to it.
Suddenly, it was as if he was looking through someone else's eyes. The door of the club opened, spilling light and sound onto the pavement. A figure stood silhouetted and framed in the threshold. Leon was startled but a quick probe told him who it was. It didn't explain the odd sense of being 'taken over' but the usually mild-mannered vampire was beyond caring at this moment.
Samar continued to be lost in her private hell and sobbing as if her heart were breaking. And maybe it was.
::I would speak with you.:: Simple words, the phrasing a little archaic as Leon slipped back to the vernacular he grew up with, but the blazing anger behind them needed no adornment. Through their odd shared senses, Leon knew when the dark eyes moved to the point where Leon was huddled with Samar, as if Makoe could look through night, and metal and leather, and see them. He knew when Makoe nodded once, not seeming at all surprised.
::I'm taking her home. I'll see you in the woods in two hours,:: Leon went on, recovering himself.
::Four. The night is young yet,:: Makoe countered nonchalantly and Leon had to suppress the urge to do him bodily harm. Mental amusement flooded his mind. ::You'll get your chance. Later,:: the cold voice assured him as Makoe released the door and disappeared back into the club.
Leon waited until Makoe was gone, then waited some more for Samar's sobs to subside to stillness.
* * *
It wasn't difficult to locate Makoe. The vampire's presence was like a shuttered lantern; he could choose to announce his location and no one would mistake the beacon of his mind. Or, if he did not wish to be found, he would not be.
More; the vampire had demonstrated before that his shields were selective as well, and could be tuned to whomever he wished so that some may see him while others did not.
Tonight, he did not hide from Leon. The seething, cold flame drew the angry, gaunt vampire through the woods. Up ahead was an odd pool of light, garishly bright and most certainly artificial. An odd thudding came at intervals.
The usually phlegmatic vampire came upon the odd scene and stopped.
Makoe was standing on an expanse of concrete with lines drawn upon it. On each end of the oblong, hoops were mounted on steel posts: a basketball court. Spotlights shone down mercilessly, illuminating every inch of the area.
The dark vampire casually threw the ball in his hands, every move relaxed, almost negligent. The black spangled ball sailed unerringly and fell through the hoop without touching the rim. Somehow, it bounced back at an angle and returned to Makoe's hands as if pulled by a string.
::Care for some on- on-one?::
Bemused, Leon merely shook his head. Makoe was still clad in the casual, tight black t-shirt and dark-gray slacks he had worn to the club; his jacket was stark against the concrete near the steel post. He didn't appear to be exerting himself in the least.
::You wanted to talk?:: the cold vampire prompted, shooting another flawless three-pointer.
::Samar,:: was all Leon got out before he became at a lost for words.
::You comforted her well, I trust?::
Leon could not believe the casual tone Makoe took and it sparked his protective anger all over again. ::What game are you playing, Aodhan?::
::Nothing, anymore,:: was the unruffled, cryptic reply.
Frustrated at the brush off, Leon stepped onto the court. He batted the ball aside on its return flight to Makoe's waiting hands and stood in front of the other vampire. Although he was physically taller than the other, they somehow ended up looking each other in the eye.
Leon's face felt like a mask; he guessed that it was set in a stubborn, grim expression. ::You hurt her. Why are you playing with her feelings?:: he sent the question lancing straight at other, daring him to give a indifferent answer; trying, by force of will, to drag the truth out of him.
Makoe looked as impassive as ever. ::What do you care, Morris?:: he threw back.
Taken aback by the question, Leon temporized. ::You hurt her for no reason that I can see. The hunt does not do that to each other. And she's only a young girl who had the bad sense to fall in love with you. She did not deserve to have her feelings crushed like that.::
::Firstly, Leon, you should be careful about calling hunt-bond into things.:: He left that obscure remark at that and went on, "Secondly, I think you and I both know that a few tears will not break her. She has to grow up sooner or later.::
Leon looked at him, stiff-lipped, unable to reply, unwilling to back down.
Unsettlingly, Makoe looked amused. ::If you want truth from me, you had better be ready to give in kind. Brother.:: The amusement vanished and the question was heavy and implacable as he repeated it, ::What do you care?::
Silence. Nerves stretched to breaking point. Leon's heart speeded up and pounded in his ears. His breath caught; his mouth felt like paper. Makoe was forcing his hand, calling his bluff. He _knew_ but was forcing Leon to admit it all the same.
Feeling oddly removed from himself, Leon said quietly, for the first time, ::I love her.:: Fear crashed on him as he put into words the emotion he had kept hidden deep within for so long.
Not a muscle changed on his face, but Leon had a sense of satisfaction from the dark vampire. ::I know. It's actually not so hard to see. Even Salvatore noticed.:: Leon's breath hitched again. ::And that is the why I did what I did.::
The easy, casual words made Leon blink. What? ::You hurt her feelings because I love her?:: he repeated, incredulous. Betrayal began creeping up his spine, chilling and burning him at the same time.
Without warning, his mind was snagged and images, impressions went by in a blur. Leon was helpless and could watch the story that unfolded in a daze. Makoe realized what lay behind the fatherly affection Leon showed Samar. He also realized how Tristan would react to anyone beginning a relationship with his sister and how Samar herself was oblivious to romantic love. And so Makoe had set himself up as trailbreaker. 'Better me than you' he had said that night when he and Samar had returned. He had been referring to Tristan's antagonism, then.
As suddenly as he had been ensnared, he was released and nearly stumbled backwards. He cupped one hand against his head, then shook to clear the sense of displacement. Brown eyes raised to meet impassive black ones.
::You broke her heart, cruelly, deliberately; that's supposed to help _me_ win her?:: he demanded. Leon straightened and crossed his arms. ::Forgive me if I don't quite believe all that. Brother.:: He nearly spat out that last bitterly. ::Even you could not be so misguided.::
The forgotten basketball made its presence felt, impacting Leon hard. It flew off into the darkness, then returned like Halley's comet, flying obediently into Makoe's fingers. The stunned expression on Leon's face must have amused Makoe for the mental voice came as close to laughing as it ever did, ::Haven't you ever heard the term 'on the rebound'?::
The basketball hit the backboard, and then danced on the rim of the hoop before falling neatly through it. Leon, eyeing it over his shoulder, stepped out of the way as it returned to Makoe like metal to lodestone.
::I do _not_ want to start a relationship with Samar, catching her on the rebound,:: he said emphatically.
Makoe shot and shrugged in the space of time during which his hands were empty. ::Whatever. Samar was only falling deeper and I had to kill her infatuation as quickly as possible.:: Holding the basketball, Makoe turned slightly and his tone was icy as he said, ::I'll not allow a female to think herself in love with me.::
Leon was stunned at the depth of intensity in that sentiment. ::Why?!:: he blurted.
He only got silence as deep and dark as the space between stars as a reply. Makoe started his rhythmic shooting of hoops again.
Leon frowned and began to say something else but Makoe beat him to it. ::So. Do you still want to beat the unliving daylights out of me?:: Again, that near-humor.
::Don't tempt me,:: Leon mock-growled, thinking of Samar shaking beneath his hands and the turmoil in her mind, recalling his own answering anguish. They both knew how unlikely it was for Leon to actually try and attack Makoe; he would not get very far unless Makoe stood there and _let_ himself be thrashed. Understanding Makoe's motives didn't make the situation any more pleasant, but at least it took the edge of his animosity. ::You treated her badly, Makoe.::
::It was the only way, Leon. She'll get over it. And if she doesn't, if she ends up hating me,:: a mental shrug, ::I'll survive.::
Leon wondered at Makoe's isolation, his way of letting nothing touch him. Oh, he might become annoyed or irritated, but nothing truly upset his inner balance. He never seemed to care about anything enough for that to happen.
::There is something else.::
The solemnity in that caught Leon unprepared. ::Yes?::
::This Turning business.::
Leon inhaled sharply. ::Yes?:: he said again.
::I think Tristan made it quite clear what he thinks of it. I also know Samar is thinking seriously about it. What about you?:: Makoe asked bluntly, the tempo of shoot, rebound, catch and shoot never faltering.
::I am, also,:: Leon said cautiously. Was this what he meant with that remark about the hunt. If he and Samar decided to be Turned, there was, essentially, no hunt left. Leon could not see Tristan and Makoe staying together on their own. In some odd way, Leon and Samar held the group together.
Makoe nodded. ::After what was said to Salvatore, perhaps it would be good if you spoke to Samar. I think she might be hesitant to say she wishes to be human again for fear of losing her place in the group. If you both Turn...::
A rather ideal situation and one that made Leon's eyes widen in wonder. He studied it for a while, looking at it from all angles. Yes, a most desirable arrangement.
Coming back to the present, Leon glanced at the cold vampire. ::And you?::
::I choose to remain a vampire.:: The answer was clipped and unhesitating; a firm decision obviously already made.
Leon nodded, not particularly surprised at this. He understood Samar's indecision all too well; neither of them had chosen to become vampires. Circumstances had stolen that choice from them. A sudden question struck Leon, one he had never thought to ask.
::How did you become a vampire?::
Again, that heavy silence. The ball flew into Makoe's hands and did not leave this time and the dark vampire was as still as any statue of bronze or concrete.
As he waited for an answer, pieces began falling into place, an incomplete puzzle, and suspicions began niggling at him. ::Does your breaking with Samar have anything to do with the fact that she might want to be Turned and you do not?:: he asked.
Still no reply. Leon stepped back in front of Makoe. ::We know nothing about you. Not that it mattered. But as a hunt, you know about our pasts and you are still a mystery to us. Did you choose to become a vampire? When were you made?::
Other questions began pouring out; why he was so Powerful and – if the negligent manipulation of the basketball was any indication – what other abilities did he have that they didn't know about?
Makoe's ebon eyes finally focused on Leon's face. One dark eyebrow raised faintly. ::You want to know?:: he asked as mildly as Leon could. Slightly unnerved, Leon nodded.
The dark eyes seem to glitter, becoming piercingly intense. ::I'll tell you. But there's a price. You'll have to do one thing I ask.::
The natural response to that was, of course, ::What?::
But instead of answering, Makoe raised an eyebrow. ::You'll find out. Do you still want to know?::
Leon narrowed his eyes at his hunt-mate, scrutinizing him. ::Yes,:: he said finally.
::Your word on it, then. My past for the performance of one task,:: Makoe stipulated clearly, tone cold.
One corner of Leon's lips jerked up. ::Your story had better be worth it.:: But he nodded agreement to Makoe's words.
::Done then!:: The ball leapt the dark vampire's hands, coming to life and settling as a spinning orb on the tip of his index finger. Leon's eyes were drawn to that motion momentarily – and captured. The black, spangled ball became a gray blur. Images whirled past his mental eye again, telling a wordless tale. His questions were answered, and the sense he got was that of a brief explanation that only hinted at a deeper, more intricate story in the background.
Aodhan was descended from a royal family; in a time when Druids had walked free, he had been a prince among his people. There had been an outlander criminal... a slave. He intrigued the prince with his quiet yet unservile manner, his fearlessness. It was as if he did not fear death, as if he chose to be in his lowly position, as if the joke was on his masters.
He had been a vampire.
Captivated with his Power, the prince had asked to be changed too, that he might share in that Power. And so...
Again, Leon came back to the present with a jolt. The basketball stopped spinning and Makoe began dribbling it casually, rhythmically. ::And so...:: the dark vampire trailed off and shrugged.
Leon stared at him, trying to adjust to his new knowledge. Makoe was a prince born. He had chosen his vampirism. He was over two _thousand_ years old.
And now he raced cars illegally?
::Have you ever regretted your choice?:: he asked finally.
The basketball was being dribbled idly from one hand to another, front and back, side to side. ::There have been moments, to be sure,:: was the cool reply. ::But I don't hang on to them, so what does it matter?::
Leon drew a deep breath. ::That's true.:: He lapsed into silence, trying to assimilate the information and wrap his mind around it. It explained a few things about the cold vampire, but also brought up many new questions.
::About your task,:: Makoe interrupted his thoughts. Leon came alert, focusing back on the other vampire. Makoe took his eyes off the bouncing ball, then caught it. As the echoes faded into the night-hushed forest, he told Leon. It was simple.
::Tell Samar.::
Leon's mind blanked momentarily. Two simple words that held absolutely no meaning for him in the space of a split second. Then Makoe's intent came into razor-sharp focus and Leon blanched. ::You can't be serious!::
::Can't I?:: Leon might have sworn he was amused, if the taller vampire had been paying attention to such things. ::Tell her how you feel, Leon. When the next Old One is dealt with,:: he specified.
::No!:: Leon protested violently. ::I will not force that knowledge on her. What good would it do?:: he demanded heatedly.
Makoe was unmoved. ::You're afraid she'll reject you. You think that by telling her, you will jeopardize your current relationship with her,:: he said, calling Leon's bluff. ::By not telling her, you are not protecting her, you're robbing her of a choice. As for what good it will do...:: he trailed off, inviting Leon to figure it out himself.
Leon's expression turned stubborn. ::I won't have my feelings color her reactions or make her think she has to reciprocate. If she feels anything for me, I will know and she will recognize my emotions as well. Until then, I will do _nothing_.::
::Many people do not know their own hearts very well,:: Makoe commented casually, then eyed Leon coolly. ::So you're reneging on your word?:: There was nothing binding Leon to their agreement but then, they both knew – now – that Makoe needed none.
The usually laid-back vampire tensed, not going down without a fight.
Makoe's telepathy slid past his shields and sounded silkily in his mind, despite the cold impatience in the tone, ::I wouldn't normally meddle with anyone's love life, but time is ticking away, Morris.:: The mind-speech unraveled into thought and images. In essence, Makoe showed him Samar's dilemma about Turning and vampirism. She had to decide soon, before Elena completed her task, or she would lose her chance. And her choice should not be hampered by her fear of being abandoned. Leon must tell her how he feels, and that he is also considering being Turned, so that she will know that she will not be abandoned should she choose humanity.
When Makoe released Leon's mind, the brown-haired vampire looked...resigned. ::I'll tell her.:: Just saying the words gave him pangs of panic.
Makoe nodded once, never showing any expression. He tucked the basketball under his arm and started off towards the cabin, apparently closing and dismissing the discussion. Leon wordlessly followed. Along the way, he had time to consider the conversation and began staring at the back of Makoe's head as if trying to see into his thoughts.
Why was the dark vampire so concerned about Samar?
* * *
The room was pitch black, save the pyramid of light under the single, low-hung lamp. Within that wedge of light, a plain, wooden chair stood on cold concrete.
Sam Conard was led to that chair and unceremoniously plunked into it. The two well-dressed thugs who had brought him there melted into the shadows although their presence continued to weigh on Sam's mind.
A small sound just beyond the circle of light and the toe of a polished leather shoe appeared, looking oddly disembodied although Sam knew the man wearing the shoe would have bright red hair like the pelt of a fox and lazy eyes the color of amber in sunlight. The mental image brought shivers down his back.
"Mr. Conard," the cultured voice began patiently. "You have been given many opportunities to repay your debt to this company and have failed to do so on every occasion." Another minute shift in posture and the sound of well-oiled springs as an expensive chair reclined. "Tell me. What are we do to with you?" the clinically polite voice invited.
"Look," Sam spat. "I already told you, I'm trying to get you your money. But it don't come easy. You'll have to give me more time."
"Time?" A subliminal chuckle. "I bought your wife some time, didn't I, with that money?"
Sam snarled but didn't reply. After a moment, the unseen man spoke again.
"I'm afraid, Mr. Conard, that your time is up. We've given you sufficient leeway and you've not lived up to your end of the bargain. We cannot let that stand. It's bad for business, nothing personal. I'm sure you understand," the man said with impersonal, fake regret.
Sam sneered. "Marge is dead! Your money didn't buy her nothing, in the end. You think you're scaring me? There's nothing you can do to me. Killing me would be a mercy!" A bitter laugh tore from his throat.
The chair straightened abruptly with a subliminal creak and the leather shoes came further into the light, attached to impeccably cut grey trousers. The sight of the half-shadowed face tight with anger killed Sam's laughter and his hackles went up.
The face smoothed back into its customary urbane mask. The blaze in the tiger-eyes dimmed to the uncanny shade of amber in shadow and the sensuous lips smiled.
"Is that so?" the man asked silkily.
Hands slid into the trousers' pockets, pushing back the matching grey coat and clearly showed the fine linen shirt and tasteful pinstripe tie was held in place with a silver tie-pin. "Well, then, perhaps we can oblige you."
_They're going to kill me._ The thought gripped Sam with absolute certainty. The sudden, looming possibility of that froze him without thought or emotion. He could only stare at the red-haired man in front of him.
The way the man's golden eyes swept over him – as if examining a horse he thought of buying –sent more involuntary shivers down Sam's back. Some had called Emson McModrey the devil himself but Sam had been desperate for the loan in hopes that the best care would help his beloved wife overcome cancer. He hadn't listened to anyone's warning then, but they came back to haunt him now.
"A pity. You may have proved useful," McModrey commented eyeing him coolly and Sam swore he saw himself caught and reflected behind those uncanny yellow orbs.
"But. We may have another use for you," McModrey said, suddenly brisk, and Sam let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. His next words dispelled any relief Sam felt in that brief moment.
"Yes, Mr. Conard. We may get our pound of flesh from you, yet," McModrey said. The phrasing made Sam shiver uncontrollably. _Some things may be worse than death._ The words came into his head like a message.
"Are you cold?" the clipped, cultured voice asked courteously.
Sam jolted upright. "N-not at all." He must show no weakness! he thought desperately.
McModrey snapped his fingers with disapproving impatience. "Oh, come, come, man, no stuttering and fidgeting. It's very unbecoming."
Abruptly, Sam felt his entire body go numb and leaden. He could blink and draw breath, but that was all.
"Now then, let us begin." McModrey stepped fully into the light and his hair shone like flame. His face was sculpted to an angelic purity but the expression in his eyes was twisted. "First, let's get you warmed up."
He didn't do anything. Sam was sure he didn't do anything. But suddenly the chair he was sitting on was on fire. Sam couldn't move but he could _feel_ the flames licking at his clothes and then his flesh. He couldn't scream but he could inhale and the fumes and the smell of burning skin and hair caught in his throat.
With burning, tearing eyes, he looked at Emson McModrey, who stood just inside the circle of light, hands casually tucked into his trousers pockets and watched without any sign of being affected by the man in the chair burning alive.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you, Sam? Some things are worse than death," McModrey said and smiled pleasantly, revealing elongated, razor-sharp canines.
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